And the Sea Will Swallow You Whole
by RoseHasThorns
Summary: Chapter 5 is up! Eames is getting married, forcing Goren to go over their whole relationship and what it really means to him
1. Default Chapter

She swears that the waves are getting closer, and maybe they are. I can almost taste the salt that hides beneath their tumbling, white crowns and drops of water spray against my face with taunting strokes. She's humming something I can barely make out over the roaring of the waves. Doesn't matter though, just the sound of her voice is enough to send me down into the dizzy pits of depression once again. In about 10 hours I'll probably never hear her hum again, or say my name.nothing. It will be silence and that's the most unbearable thing about tonight. After years of hiding our flirtation through scathing banter, after years of hiding my deep affection for her with tidy suits and steady smiles, she's leaving. And we have nothing to show for our relationship except for cases solved and criminals locked away.  
  
Not that that isn't something to be proud of, I mean, that was what brought us together and kept us together for so long. We're a great team, a brilliant team. Which is what is tearing me apart, she's leaving behind all this perfection for a man who can't even say psychoanalysis right.  
  
I look at the side of her face with a slight pang of jealousy. The fact that he gets to kiss that skin every night and taste those lips is too much for me. I clench the sand in my hand, watching it slip through my fingers like that of an hourglass. And she's slipping too, so fast I can barely catch her, so fast she's already gone. She's just a shadow now, just a memory, and if I reach out and touch her..  
  
Well I wouldn't dare. Not with the way she's looking at me now, after all that's been said. I brush back my hair and let out a sigh, watching my breath turn into smoke and disappear. She reaches out towards the empty sky, and I realize that she's pointing out a plane that's spelling out something in the air, a marriage proposal, how convenient. I nod my head, playing along with her distraction. Cause that's what this all is, a distraction. The beach lies ahead of us; a vast ocean of guilt lies inside of us, and..  
  
Jesus she looks beautiful.  
  
But that's not the point, the point is we can't do this anymore, can't keep pretending we don't know what's going on between us. Because if we do, if we pretend it isn't happening, I'll lose my mind. Not that I haven't already lost it.  
  
She's talking. And she looks miserable; these are not good signs. I nod my head and keep staring at the ocean. Yes, it's getting closer, so close I can almost feel it lick at my feet. And yet we still haven't brought up what I've hoped we'd discuss. The kiss we shared about fifteen minutes ago. I've come to the decision that she's trying to erase it, and I can't let her do that. Everything I ever dreamed of lies in that kiss.  
  
"You aren't even listening to me."  
  
"Course I am," I reply, catching the end of her speech. "I think we should move, the water is getting closer and,"  
  
"I really don't think you grasp how serious the situation is, how much things could be screwed up," She takes a deep breath and I focus on the buttons of my suit, and I can't help but wish that I had changed before."And my whole marriage is at stake."  
  
"Right." I agree.  
  
"Right what?" Damn. She looks expectantly, and I know she's testing me.  
  
"Your marriage could fall apart."  
  
"Because of that stupid kiss." Now I'm paying attention.  
  
"Stupid?"  
  
"What did you possibly think would happen? That if you kissed me I would suddenly change my mind?"  
  
"No," I carve a hole in the sand with my fingers, poking its surface as the anger begins to flood through my veins. "Well yes."  
  
"Bobby, sometimes you can be a real jackass." She stands up, brushing off her jacket and stuffing her feet into sandals. I should run after her, I've only got 9 more hours left with her. 9 more hours to convince her to stay.  
  
After that, she's gone. 


	2. Tell Her This

Tell Her This Currie Tell her not to go  
  
I ain't holding on no more  
  
Tell her something in my mind freezes up from time to time Tell her not to cry  
  
I just got scared that's all  
  
Tell her I'll be by her side, all she has to do is call Tell her the chips are down  
  
I drank too much and shouted it aloud  
  
Tell her something in my heart  
  
Needs her more than even clowns need the laughter of the crowd Tell her what was wrong  
  
I sometimes think to much  
  
But say nothing at all  
  
And tell her from this high terrain, I am ready now to fall Tell her not to go  
  
I ain't holding on no more  
  
Tell her nothing if not this; all I want to do is kiss her Tell her something in my mind  
  
Freezes up from time to time  
  
The streetlight pours through the window and glides across her hair, leaving the rest of the car in curious shadows. I tap my fingers against the driving wheel in unison with the rain, keeping my eyes focused on the trails of drops that swim across the windshield. He's breathing along with the wind, just enough to remind me she's there, just enough to remind me that it is all going to end in a few hours. The clock keeps ticking, and ticking, and. I really want to kiss her, to taste her again. The way she keeps running her tongue over her lips, as if she knows I'm watching, it keeps gnawing at me. I swallow the lump in my throat that blocks my voice and turn my head towards her to catch her attention. It does, slowly she responds and all I want is this moment. Us staring at one another, time paused, and just the sound of the rain. Then her head moves back to the front and I know there's no way I can keep her. She's gone, she's his. All I can do now is send her my best wishes and give her a slap on the back. "I better drive you to the airport." I say, sticking the keys into the ignition. Her head snaps up and I'm met with wide eyes. Course she's surprised, she didn't think I'd give up so easy. "Well if you want," I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around her and press myself close. I want to inhale her, suck the life out of her, and live with her inside of me, and if I could make her stay. "Yes I think that would be best." But she won't let me, as far as I know she's already planning her life without me. She's retiring, becoming a mom. She says she's always wanted to have at least three children. Somehow I can't imagine her in anything but the work suits she wears. No, Alex Eames could never drive a minivan while carrying orange slices to soccer games. "Do you ever," I fidget with my watch. "Think about us?" "Us," The word rolls off her lips like acid. "What do you mean?" "Well, could you ever think of me as a husband?" "Goren," She lets out a sharp laugh, and shrugs. "Jesus." "I mean, have you ever even considered what life would be like had you chosen me?" I can see the answer. Her eyes grow cloudy and her mouth staggers with her response. Finally she takes a deep breath and spits it out. "No," I wince. "Never." And I turn the keys, letting the engine roar to life. That's all I wanted.  
  
The planes keep roaring above us, interrupting every spurt of conversation we have. Not that it breaks up anything special, more like questions and answers. How you feeling? Do you like the food on the plane? Packed a sweater? And then we go back to taking deep breaths and prayers that we won't have to suffer much longer. The urge to kiss her is getting stronger; I can feel my head thump with the echo of my heart. I'm stepping closer, and closer. I don't know if she realizes it or not, if she does she's just too tired to prevent it. There's no chance she actually wants it to happen. Pretty soon we are close enough to embrace, and my hands go to the sides of her face. It's awkward, uncomfortable and yet it feels right. Like it should have been this way all along, and it would have been had my attempts been successful today. I press my lips against hers and relax. I pretend it is us getting married, us kissing in front of a church full of our friends, and I imagine coming home to her and my children, I imagine us making love at night, and falling asleep with her arms around me. Finally I pull away and find myself out of breath and numb, It's the first time I've never been able to think. She looks flushed and angry and just plain exhausted. And I can see, somewhere buried in al the rage, a hint of sadness. Maybe she thinks we could of worked out too, had we just realized what was in front of our faced all along. We don't say anything till we get to the gate. Saying goodbye to somebody really drags every inch of energy out of you. "Do you want me to stick around?" I ask. "No, he's coming in ten minutes. You shouldn't be here when he arrives." "Yeah," I scratch my head. "So I guess this is goodbye." She slowly nods her head, reaching out from behind the invisible line drawn between us to give a proper handshake. It seems too formal, after years of working together I can't believe this is what it has come down too. Without thinking I kiss her again, sucking one last breath out of her. When I pull away her eyes are still closed. "I'm not going to open them." She says calmly. "But," "I don't want to see you go. I don't want to cry and smear my mascara." "I love you." "I know." "Still don't love me?" She sighs. "Quit it Goren, we've done this already." I can't go, my legs won't budge. "Just tell me what you are feeling and I'll leave." "You are making this so hard." "Just tell me." Her eyes flutter open exposing tears that are about to fall. She's always been so tough and I almost gasp at the sight of her breaking. "Goren, you better go. He'll be here any minute and I don't want him to see you. I'll write, okay?" It's over. There are no more chances. My legs unlock and I can move. "Goodbye Alex." She closes her eyes and shuts me off, taking a shudder of a breath. "I love you Bobby." I keep walking, cause who knows what will happen if I turn around and face her. With every step I can hear her calling my name, but I'm imagining it. Maybe it's just the wind, maybe I'm going crazy. I wonder how the waves are today, 


	3. When You Call Him a Friend

The house isn't dangerous or anything. No, it's a normal, suburban dream with a picket fence and fancy flowers lining the path. I shouldn't be scared; I shouldn't be hiding behind this tree in broad daylight, like a child dared to approach an eerie mansion. I take a step out, breathing slowly as I venture near the delicate structure. I pretend the road is made of matchsticks and I have to walk as carefully as possible, I can't make a sound in case I want to run back home where it is safe. It would be a waste of a flight but still, I really shouldn't be here in the first place. Especially because we ended on such a depressing note and we inwardly promised we would never see each other again. At least until our hearts glued themselves back together.  
  
I find myself at the front door where a cheerful mat lays underneath my feet, welcoming guests with a flourish of cursive. I struggle to pull my hand up from my side where it lays like a lump of numb skin and I knock on the door quickly, praying to god she isn't here and I can satisfy myself that at least I tried. Unfortunately the door opens and there she is, her face blocked by the screen door, wire separating us like in a prison. She blinks, her lips parting with a spillage of words that don't make sense, and for a heart wrenching second I can see she doesn't want me here. I try to speak but my voice is a traitor and hides deep in my stomach where the rest of my organs have deteriorated. Only butterflies live now, fluttering about in the hollow ground of my skeleton.  
  
Still gasping for air she opens the screen door, her eyes shimmering coals of suspicion. She doesn't know what I'm doing here, neither do I. I regret coming, it was definitely a mistake. I should have turned around when I had the chance. Now she feels obligated to welcome me in, because of course we did have a history before all of the love stuff got in the way and I did travel all the way here to see her.  
  
"Goren," She blinks and then smiles cautiously. "It's been awhile."  
  
"Six months."  
  
"Six months, way too long." Notice she still hasn't welcomed me in. "A lot has changed." She places a hand to her belly and a rip echoes in the dream that I have been living in these past months. I convinced myself she would realize the marriage was a mistake and the minute I showed up at the front door she would wrap her arms around me and promise to never let me go again. This.this changes everything.  
  
"Congratulations Eames."  
  
"Thanks," Something changes in that second, she seems more relaxed and I find her opening the door wider and letting me in. There's a man in the living room watching football. This was definitely a mistake.  
  
"Ron this is Bobby, my old partner." She grins between us and disappears to go find drinks. The man rises and offers me a hearty handshake, his face plump and red with eyes of glittering happiness.  
  
"Bob, you're a football fan, right?"  
  
"I'm not an expert,"  
  
"That's all right, as long as you're a fan." He offers the chair next to him and we settle in to uncomfortable silence. I can't talk to him, he's the one who took her away from me and he doesn't even know, doesn't even know about the kiss that almost cost him his marriage. I find a photo album lying on the coffee table and I pick it up carefully, as if it is Pandora's Box. Nothing good can come from it. I open it and Eames looks back at me with an excited smile, her arms around Ron in the way I dreamed I would hold her, its there honeymoon. I snap the book shut and push it back just as she comes in.  
  
"Is Coke alright?" She hands me the glass. "We don't have alcoholic drinks, not with the baby coming."  
  
"Coke is fine." I reply, but I'm not thirsty. I just want to leave. I want to forget all of this, her growing stomach, his beaming smile, the photos that hide in the dreaded book. "I should be going, I was in town and I just thought I would drop by." Eames's smile falters and she looks to Ron and then back at me. She probably thinks we had an argument. "Nice to meet you Ron."  
  
"Hey, any friend of hers is a friend of mine; you come visit us whenever you want." He stands up and shakes my hand once more, Eames just looks like she's going to vomit on the carpet. I walk towards the door and wait for her to follow.  
  
"We didn't get to talk." She says softly, her fingers tugging gently on the elbow of my shirt. "Can you sit outside with me, for a second?"  
  
"Sure," I breathe letting her guide me to a white, wooden swing that bathes in the sun's enchanting streaks. "Nice guy."  
  
"I'm glad you like him."  
  
"It's hard not to like him."  
  
"It's so easy to love him, there's no complications, no struggle. Its just there," She's telling me this for a reason; she's explaining why she couldn't be with me. It's just too complicated. "He's going to be a great father."  
  
"Sure, he'll be perfect."  
  
"There's no such thing as perfect."  
  
"I don't know," I turn to her. "Some things just are." She searches my eyes and doesn't like what she sees, her eyes falling down through the cracks of the porch. "Anyway, I'm glad you are happy."  
  
"No you aren't, it's not what you came here to hear, you didn't travel all this way to see me happily married and pregnant," She looks up, wiping away prickles of tears. "You were hoping I was miserable, you were looking to rescue me." I forgot how well she could read me.  
  
"I didn't," I plead with her to listen but she won't, she just keeps shaking her head and sucking in whispers of anger she doesn't want Ron to hear. "Eames I just wanted to make sure you were all right."  
  
"You wanted to make sure you hadn't made the wrong decision."  
  
"Me?"  
  
"I told you," She changes the volume of her voice to deathly quiet. "I said I loved you and you just kept on walking."  
  
"Cause I knew you didn't mean it."  
  
"Course I meant it."  
  
"You love me?"  
  
"Loved."  
  
"Past tense."  
  
"Yeah, it's all in the past, and we have to move on now," She stands up suddenly, whipping around to point a wobbling finger at me. "Why can't you just get on with your life and leave me alone!" If I give her an answer it won't be the right one. I don't know why I keep trudging into her life expecting to be pleased with what I find; I don't know why I burst through her carefully erected home and flood it with thoughts she so carefully buried. I stand up, keeping my eyes down, and I touch her hand, linking my pinky with hers. I have to go; I have to stop doing this.  
  
"I can't give you an answer, I don't know why. I.I won't come here anymore," I let out a rush of wheezing air and then I offer a slight smile. "Before all this, all this love bullshit, we were great, weren't we?" She places her hands palm down on her stomach as if the baby can hear.  
  
"Yeah," She lets the tips of her lips twitch upwards. "We blew everybody's socks off." We stand there with mesmerized smiles on our faces, dreaming of the days that will forever be lost to us, far from our grasp. It's pretty clear we can never go back, but it's hard to imagine moving forward. I'm scared, so deathly scared I'll be alone forever. She at least has someone to hold her when the weather gets rough. She tugs on my pinky, and I finally meet her eyes.  
  
"You got to go back inside?"  
  
"Yeah," She almost seems disappointed. "You know, I have to vacuum up all the popcorn he's probably spilled everywhere. Have I told you how much I hate football?"  
  
"Only about a dozen times," She nods her head at the memories of our discussions, late at night on the phone or perhaps walking past the grizzliest cases we had ever seen. We always managed to make the situations livable; we were only a phone call away to chase the nightmares away. "I won't be calling for awhile."  
  
"No, I guess not." She replies, scratching the peeling paint of the front door.  
  
"But maybe," I clear my throat. "Well if you need to vent your frustrations about the Super Bowl." She cracks a smile.  
  
"I'll call you." She opens the door, peering through the screen with an intent look at her past, before shutting it with a final wave of her hand. I slowly shuffle down the steps and onto the sidewalk. At least we've forgiven each other, which is the most important thing. I'm almost certain I will be able to rid myself of my love for her, after all, there's plenty of fish in the sea.  
  
Right? 


	4. Wicked Game

The calls come every night at 6 PM sharp, and they are diverse in their emotions. Sometimes the phone radiates happiness other times it is laced with carefully chosen words that sound choked and secretive. Any call is better than no call at all, and so he takes each one like candy, addicted to the energy it provides him, no matter how small the dosage. He stares out at the twinkling universe around him, and listens to her mumble and shout and cry and laugh and everything seems so perfect, so blinding he can barely see afterwards. The rest of the day he walks around like a shadow, his eyes haunted and mysterious. He's still brilliant of course, solves crimes left to right and surprises everybody, but he's just not into anymore. Nothing can surpass the electricity that floods him every time the phone rings and her voice slides easily through his ears.  
  
It won't last much longer, soon he'll desire more than just her voice; he'll want her face and body to match. He'll look at her picture and dream her into the room, lying on the couch, phone cocked between her shoulders and her head, twiddling the cord with her fingers. He's greedy, he devours all she can give and wants more. He wants time to speed up and slow down at various moments, to preserve minutes so he can live in them forever.  
  
The phone rings and he stares at it, wondering what will happen if he doesn't answer it. However, temptation gets the best of him and he swoops up the phone on the last ring, sighing at his cowardice.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"What took so long?"  
  
"I just got in, traffic is hectic."  
  
"You're lying," His eyes peer through the windows as if she's watching him, and then he hears chuckling. "Kidding of course."  
  
"Kidding," He repeats and settles into the couch. "So what happened today?"  
  
"I made brownies for the nursery school fund-raiser, we made five hundred dollars."  
  
"I knew you'd grow up to be the next Martha Stewart."  
  
"I cheated, bought them at Vons."  
  
"Eames, how could you?"  
  
"I can't cook," She complains and he hears somebody mumble something in the background and then she laughs. "Ron chipped his tooth on my lasagna." Goren wishes he had broken his whole jaw.  
  
"How is Ron?"  
  
"He's fine," The rest of the words are muffled in a mixture of fast movement and the crinkle of clothes. Finally a door shuts and she comes back on the line, breathless and panting. "Goren?"  
  
"Still here."  
  
"Good," She stops breathing for a moment and then she lets it all out in a rush of sentence. "You'll always be here, won't you?"  
  
"I suppose so," Then he smiles. "Everybody dies Eames." She chuckles at the statement.  
  
"You know what I mean."  
  
"Sure," He clears his throat. "As long as you want me to be."  
  
"I think Ron is having an affair." The sentence hits him with a blow to the chest and for a moment all he can do is form a gaping whole with his mouth.  
  
"Jesus," He shakes his head. "You sure?"  
  
"No," Her voice sounds childish. "He's just gone all the time and once I picked up the phone and there was this strange woman asking for him. When she heard it was me she hung up."  
  
"Doesn't mean anything." He soothes, playing the part of the good friend. But inside he wants to tear the man to shreds, rip every scrap of his gleaming face. Instead he just clenches his fist.  
  
"I'm just so insecure," She mumbles. "He's great, he's wonderful. I'm just so worried sometimes."  
  
"Hey Eames? I have to go." He's acting stupid but he can't take anymore. He can't hear her praise the man who could be wasting her life. She's silent; he wonders if she's already hung up.  
  
"I miss you."  
  
"Miss you too."  
  
"He told me I shouldn't call so much."  
  
"Well maybe you shouldn't. I mean, if I was a guy, I'd be a little bit worried if my girl were calling her old partner every night."  
  
"Okay," She's angry now. "Fine then, once a week." His heart is screaming for him to stop, that taking away her voice every night will ruin them. He's gone too far. He assures himself that it is for the best.  
  
"Fine." He whispers.  
  
"Goren?" He doesn't reply, but she knows he's there. "Can I call you on special occasions? You're my only friend, my only real friend and I need you." She needs him, she needs him and that's all he wants.  
  
"Sure," He grins. "Forget Ron, call whenever you want." She laughs.  
  
"Bye, I lov." Her voice cuts off and there is a sharp intake of breath. Finally the silence is replaced by the dial tone. She was so close; so close he could feel it, or maybe he was just imagining it. Imagined her voice so pure and loving, made it seem as if she shared his feelings. The phone still hums in his hands and he places it back into the cradle. He feels drained and worn out, a pale slither of skin stuck to cracking bones. He tosses his shoes to the floor and flicks off the lights in the apartment, fighting the darkness to his bed. The phone rings just as his eyes begin to close. He doesn't open them, just reaches for the phone on the bedside table.  
  
"Hmm?" He mutters.  
  
"I love you." She says it so calmly he thinks he's dreaming.  
  
"Eames?"  
  
"No Santa Clause, course its me."  
  
"Of course." He's still dreaming.  
  
"Goren did you hear me?"  
  
"You said I love you." But he isn't sure if she's real or not or if he's finally blown his casket and is talking to himself.  
  
"Yes," She sighs. "Ron isn't having an affair, there was no woman. I think I'm just trying to create a reason for leaving him."  
  
"Are you still in the closet?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I don't know," A door creaks in the background. "Do you think I'm acting crazy?"  
  
"Yes," He says stiffly. "Go to bed." The phone clicks and the dial tone rings in his ear again. One of these days, his mind accuses; the phone will never ring again.  
  
**************  
  
She says she's coming to his apartment and he can't stop her. She needs to see him desperately, says she's turning into a hillbilly. He doesn't say anything, just listens and nods and sometimes adds in a mumble that only stops her rant for the amount of time that it takes her mind to refuse the comment. His pulse is racing beneath his skin, filling his body with the kind of adrenaline that makes him want to run a marathon. He doesn't know what to do with him self, so he cleans his apartment and buys groceries and organizes his books and then he just watches TV until his brain is a numb clog of tissue. When the doorbell rings, it takes all his courage not to dive under the couch and wait till its over.  
  
"Bobby," She greets. She looks different, more relaxed, less conflicted. He can't help but gulp. "You haven't changed." And he doesn't know if this is a good thing or not.  
  
"No, but you have." She blinks at the statement and then shrugs, sitting down on the couch with a sigh.  
  
"Yeah, 2 years of marriage will do that to you." 2 years. Hell it's been a long time. Within a minute she's settled down with a drink and has her legs resting on the coffee table in front of them. She keeps cocking her head and peering through his eyes, what she's looking for he doesn't know, he just nudges her playfully and turns away.  
  
"How's Tania?"  
  
"Good," She looks at the carpet and smiles. "Ron says she looks a lot like me."  
  
"Then she's beautiful." Goren whispers. Her head snaps up and she studies him again, he clears his throat and gets up.  
  
"You're nervous," She observes. "You shouldn't be."  
  
"Well," He shakes his head and tries to place words together in sentences that make sense. "I don't know, it just seems so much easier to talk on the phone."  
  
"Because you can hide."  
  
"No," But she's right. "It's just different." She rises and goes close to him, clutching his hand in hers. It sends shivers through his whole body.  
  
"Do you want me?" He doesn't know if he's breathing or not. He blinks, opens his mouth and then shuts it again. How is he supposed to answer this question?  
  
"Eames," He croaks. She pushes herself closer to him and he takes a shudder of a breath.  
  
"Do you want me?" She asks again. If she had asked him before her marriage and her child he would have said yes. "Goren?" He's so scared he's going to pick the wrong answer. "Are you listening?" He could imagine saying no. "Are you okay?" And yes. "Look, what's going on?" He loves her; yes he loves her very much. He just isn't ready for this.  
  
"I can't." And she steps back, the hunger vanishing from her eyes and he feels cold and dark and angry. Why does she always make him look like the bad guy? Her lips tremble and then she shrugs again, like it doesn't mean a thing.  
  
"I'm sorry," Doesn't mean a thing. "I'm tired."  
  
"I set up the guest room for you." She looks at the room he points to and she bites her lip.  
  
"Maybe I should stay at a hotel." Doesn't mean a thing.  
  
"Whatever you feel comfortable doing." The words leave his mouth like melted butter and he's surprised he can say it without falling apart. She picks up her coat, her hair hiding the eyes he assumes are leaking tears.  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow?" Her voice asks.  
  
"Sure," The door opens and her figure pauses in the frame. "Eames I'm sorry."  
  
"It doesn't mean a thing." But it does. It means everything. 


	5. Insensitive

Without thinking I let my hand slide over hers, and her skin prickles with goose bumps. She fixes me with a cool stare, icicles hanging from her eyelashes, and they melt and become tears, bubbling under her lids and then traveling down her pale cheeks. She swallows and pulls her hand out from underneath mine. Sometimes she's a wall, hard concrete that is faded. She can be so cold, uncaring, forced and defiant. And then there's a time when she's so amazing it makes you breathless.  
  
Right now the wall is up and not budging.  
  
She splits a tomato with the edge of her fork, spilling the juices on the clean, white plate. Without an inch of hunger in her system, she plays with her food, mutates it, leaves it naked and destroyed. When boredom has finally taken over she drops the fork with a clang and fixes me with a troubled glare.  
  
"Look, I'm sorry about last night."  
  
"You don't need to apologize,"  
  
"I do, I will," She clears her throat. "It wasn't me."  
  
"I know," I sigh, twisting my napkin with my hands.  
  
"I don't know what came over me, I was nervous, you were there," She bites her lip. "And for one second I just wanted to know how it would have been like. Us. Together."  
  
"And?" I regret asking because I can see she's biting back a scathing remark.  
  
"I don't think we're missing anything." My heart whines and I have to make fists with my hands just to stop them from shaking. Her gaze lifts off of me and turns to the gray clouds outside that are slowly swallowing the entire city in a depressing fog. She runs her fingers across the mist that floods the windows and then sighs.  
  
"I'll get the check." I mutter, motioning to the waiter. Silence emits from her direction and I can't help but wonder what she's thinking. Two more days of this, my brain pounds, two more days and then we're safe again. Blunt and cautious voices over a phone line, being in the same room together has grown too intimate.  
  
She chews her lip, memorizing each particle of the sky and the trees. I clear my throat and stand up; she pauses for a moment. Drags her eyes from the window to the clean tablecloth. She purposely knocks over her almost- empty wineglass, and it stains the white with a dribble of crimson. Her eyes look up, wide, hurt, and angry. Like a child punishing their parent.  
  
"Oops."  
  
**********  
  
She likes to talk when she knows I'm not listening. She doesn't have to bother explaining her views, doesn't have to worry with replies, there's no argument. All I hear is the hum of her voice, the gentle chorus of her words, the harmony of her lips as they smack together and break with laughter. Its comforting, it's something in the background that reminds me I'm not alone.  
  
We sit on the park bench like this for hours until her mouth runs dry and my ears are full. And then I stand up and she follows suit and we walk silently like mourners through the shadowy streets. The lights dim around us, the shops close and the world, the fast spinning world, slows, becomes an aching dragged out torture, so much so that I start to move faster, and she does too and our feet stamp against the ground in a race with ourselves. I have to beat this silence, flood the air with noise. I'm not sure if we are ready for a real conversation yet. I think she's still angry.  
  
I look to her in hopes she will get my drift and open her mouth, release a symphony but her eyes stare back, open caskets of pity and lust and hatred and I turn my head quick as a whip to the glittering pavement in front of us. Unless I figure out a way to fall through a crack there is no way to escape this. I stop, leaning against a streetlight in case I keel over.  
  
"You know, this isn't working how very well."  
  
"No shit." She mutters, pulling her coat tighter around her tiny frame.  
  
"Well don't you find that sad? I mean, we were best friends for awhile."  
  
"I'm freezing."  
  
"I think we should,"  
  
"Can't we go someplace warm?" Her voice begs.  
  
"Cause we have to stop acting this way,"  
  
"I didn't think we would be pausing this long in this weather so I didn't bring my thick coat." She mumbles, rubbing her hands together.  
  
"You know? Can't you see we are drifting apart?" A pause in her complaints, she blinks, rubs her hands together just for the sake of it, and then nods. Slowly, mechanically, in danger of shutting down. "I mean. You know what I mean right?"  
  
"Yes," She says calmly. "Things change."  
  
"You can't honestly think this is how it'll always be between us, right?"  
  
"I don't know," Her eyes cloud over and she stares past me, through me, to the other side of the street. "I just know something changed and we can't go back. Things are different."  
  
"But if we realize something changed then we can work on it,"  
  
"I'm cold Goren."  
  
"You're always complaining! About the food, and the weather, and your damn husband! We don't talk anymore. You whine and I comfort. Comfort and whine, don't you get sick of it?"  
  
"So now its my fault its 30 degrees out?"  
  
"No, I just don't know why we can't talk like normal people. Why you always have to skirt the issues."  
  
"Wouldn't the better question be why do we have so many issues? Don't you think there comes a point when you just have to let it go, I mean," She takes a deep breath and bites her lip. "Sometimes you just have to give up."  
  
"You want to give up."  
  
"I don't know," She shrugs and tosses back a stray strand of hair. "I just think at some point you have to figure out if some things are worth this much aggravation." I don't want noise anymore. I want pierced eardrums, a rush of numb air to seize my ears and block the senses. Every word stabs me, cracks my chest, and she's right. Is it worth it?  
  
"No." Her eyes drag off the ground and land on me, confused oceans. I can feel the cold prickle across my skin, the wind rush through my thin garments and land accusingly on my skin.  
  
"No what?" She says slowly, dragging out the word so it seems foreign.  
  
"I don't think it is worth it." The words swoop out of my mouth and slap her in the face. She sucks in a whoosh of breath and swallows it with a gulp. My heart, the loudest instrument inside of me, beats against my chest. The silence has become a raging annoyance. Finally she starts walking again, her fists clutched so tight they are white like bones. I'm afraid, so very afraid of what she will do and what she won't do.  
  
"I'm glad you told me," She whispers. But I'm not; no it was the biggest mistake. I can't take it back but I have to. It can't be over, not like this. "It would have been a waste of time if I stayed any longer."  
  
"Eames I was wrong."  
  
"No," She turns around, her eyes piercing spears. "No you were right. You're always right."  
  
"Listen to me!" I grab for the end of the coat that flaps before me but the wind blows it away. Like a child chasing a kite I keep following it, until the body it inhabits starts running. Tears stream from the face of a woman I don't know anymore, and sobs, sobs that seem to erupt from every corner of the street, in the dark alleyways and the empty shops, echo like grotesque howls. "Please, Alex, listen!" But its too late, she bursts through her hotel and leaves me shuddering at my reflection through the glass of the door. You've lost her again, my brain accuses, and you lost the best thing in your life. She stops suddenly, pauses as if she's unsure of her direction; she turns to the door with my face pressed up against it like an abandoned dog.  
  
"Wait," She mouths. My heart sends a shock of pain through me. Do something, it cries. But I can't and I won't and I turn around before I wreck myself anymore. The door slurps open and she's there again, her mouth opens, puffing smoke into the vastly empty sky. "We've done this before, haven't we?"  
  
"Yes." I admit, tired and ready to surrender.  
  
"Well don't you think it is awfully redundant?" I can't understand what is going on, how queer she looks, her eyes glassy and full of pain and yet her mouth in a droll crack of a smile.  
  
"Alex?" I ask, squeezing my eyes as if looking into a costume.  
  
"I just, I think we should finally get it right for once," She steps closer, waiting. A response hangs on the tip of my tongue but I can't spit it out. She arches her eyebrow, steps closer again. I find myself stepping back. She looks away. "Wiles I wish things could have been different. I was so stupid back then, when I had the chance to love you, I just was frightened."  
  
"So was I." She blinks at the statement and nods.  
  
"I know I've made a mess of things, I just want you to know. I-I would love it if we could start over. Without all this pain and disappointment and bickering. Just friends, good friends. We can put this love thing in the back of our minds. You can do that, can't you?" I don't like this; I don't like this at all.  
  
"Sure." I say and I plaster a smile on that mimics hers. And there we stand, porcelain faced clowns with the wind howling around us, and though we are supposed to be starting anew, washing away all our regrets and questions, I don't know if I've ever been so confused and empty in my entire life. 


End file.
